Unholy Matrimony
by Diamond Jedi
Summary: Revenge is sweet, but forcing your enemy into marriage is even sweeter. Rogue/Pyro. Takes place after the X-Men: The Last Sand. Alternate Universe, most definitely.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Revenge is sweet, but forcing your enemy into marriage is even sweeter. Rogue/Pyro (Takes place after the X-Men: The Last Sand. Alternate Universe, most definitely.)

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men

Rating: T, for now, probably M in later chapters.

* * *

Unholy Matrimony

"No! I won't do it! There's no way in hell y' can make me!"

Massive, polished oak wood double doors burst open, scattering students straining to listen in on the heated debate taking place within the school library—young mutants fearful of mankind's hatred ran here and there. A hot tempered young woman with a striking countenance, mesmerizing doe eyes fringed with dark lashes, and soft pale skin stormed down the hall way. Her chestnut brown hair blew wildly behind her as her pace quickened.

"Rogue!" The boom of Professor Xavier's voice echoing out of the grand room—a rare thing to be heard in the mansion—sent the smaller children racing upstairs to their rooms in fright. "We are not done here."

She halted in step, glancing over her shoulder, her snow-white locks—a delightful parting gift from Magneto's ruse to use her to power his death machine—adorning her ruddy cheeks. She glared viciously, eyes glittering with contempt. "Y' pulled me out class for this! Y' must be losin' y' mind."

"This discussion is far from over," Professor Xavier said, simply, motioning his chair toward her.

"Oh, I think it is!"

A sharp turn and she was gone, out of sight, and hopefully far from the Professor's outrageous means to accept a proposition that had been laid out for the X-Men.

Wincing, Xavier gradually withdrew into the library where formal members of the X-Men team waited. Jean and Scott sat on a sofa loveseat, fingers entwined. Storm had barely moved from her post beside a large ceiling high window; her expression bleak, blues eyes tinged with fear. Secretary Hank McCoy was not too far away, while Logan reclined against a bookshelf stack with first edition novels and poems. His eyes were deeply rooted on two individuals; one person in particular.

"You certainly know how to pick them Charles," Magneto chuckled, emerging out a shadowy corner, moving casually about the study, smiling at his old friend with Mystique in tow. Like a blue serpent, she coiled around him, thrusting her lithe form against his physique. "But she does have spirit."

"Eric," Xavier let out a long, tired breath. "I don't like what you're insinuating any more than the others do. But if what you're saying is true, the X-Men have to show that we too share some allegiance to other mutant communities."

"Let's hope this arrangement works," quipped Magneto, "but I don't know if it will be enough to sway my brothers from striking against you."

"This is bull!"

Xavier wheeled his chair around, frowning at the feral man who'd remain silent through the entire conversation. "Logan, you have to understand—"

"Understand what Charles!" Logan swaggered away from the shelf, eyes black, hands clenching and unclenching as he stalked to Magneto. "He waged a war we had to freakin' stop, now he comes in here spouting this crap—actin' like he has our best interest at heart and we're supposed to like freakin' swallow it."

"He's right Professor. This is against everything you taught us," cried Storm. "We've barely escaped with our lives after Alcatraz Island, not to mention narrowly losing two of our own, and now this."

Hank came to his feet, "If Washington gets wind of this little 'arrangement', in fear, the Senate may be prompted to resurrect the Mutant Registration Act."

"There are some tough choices to consider," Xavier began, "but we can handle anything Washington throws in our direction, not a full scale attack from vengeful mutants that have deemed us as traitors."

Logan growled, "Traitors! Charles if anybody is a traitor it's that freakin' cockroach! He tried to kill Rogue now he expects us to step aside while he—"

"She's not for me Wolverine," Magneto said casually, his mouth curling into a cunning smile. "Yet I must say the young Rogue is not without a measure of charm."

Snarling, Logan broke into a run, claws bared, ready to strike at Magneto and tear him to pieces. With the slightest raise of his hand, the powerful mutant held him a bay, like a puppet dangled on a string. "The cure has done more than weakened me as you can see—now. I'm twice as powerful as before," he flexed his fingers out, nailing Logan into the wood bookshelf. "Don't make me pluck the remarkable metal out of your flesh."

"Let him go!" Scott bellowed a hand on his shades ready to wrench them off his face.

"I—I can fight m—my own battles," grunted Logan.

Scott smirked and angled his head, "Yeah, you're doing just fine."

"Enough of this!" Xavier turned his eyes to Magneto, "Eric, release him, now!"

"As you wish."

Magneto swished his hand and Logan crashed to the floor in a heap. Sweat streaming down his face he plucked himself up, snarling, breathing heavily as he popped his neck in place. "This ain't over bub," he howled, pointing his claws at Magneto. "I got you once, and I'll get you again."

"You will try," Magneto mocked. Chest heaving, Wolverine marched out the study. "Now that the circus has left shall we get down to business?"

Xavier sighed, "We need time Eric to discuss this further with Rogue."

"You're actually considering this," cried Jean.

"What choice do we have Jean," Xavier replied sadly. "It appears the Brotherhood finally has us between a rock and a hard place."

"I'll give you two days to think it over," Magneto said, flipping this cape over his arm as he headed to the door.

"Two days, Eric," Xavier said, alarmed. "I need more time. Rogue might not be so persuasive."

"Forces are moving against you and you're precious students Charles," implied Magneto. "I don't know if my words would sway these mutants not to follow through in their aggression. Two days, maybe less, it all falls in Rogue's hands. Use that powerful brain of yours to convince her otherwise."

Confounded, Xavier stared at the man he once trusted and respected. "Why are you doing this Eric?"

"I told you a long time ago Charles, don't get in my way."

"You unimaginable bastard," hissed Storm.

"Yes, my dear," Magneto grinned, "I am a bastard, but a brilliant one." Tipping his hand in a salute, he walked away with Mystique.

"Professor," Storm said whirling around to face her mentor and dear friend, "we can't let this happen. We can't do this to Rogue. We'll fight if it comes down to it."

"The last time Magneto gathered forces together you barely survived. I cannot risk you all facing a full fledge war with mutants more powerful than before they violently received the cure—some are now more powerful you."

"And what about Jean," Storm suggested, "The Phoenix—"

"No!" Xavier hollered. "We are not going to open that Pandora's Box again."

"Professor, I could—" Jean said, coming forward.

"Out of the question," Xavier said sternly, looking her way. "We cannot take that risk, Jean, not after every that's happened and the lives lost. Loved ones are thirsting for blood, your blood. No, we just have to appear to submit to this little game Magneto is playing, whilst I try to figure a way out of this ordeal. Nevertheless, knowing Eric he'll use Mystique to leak information to Washington about our possible alliance to rouse their suspicion and fears—force our hand."

"Magneto would never do that," Scott said.

"I know the man, Scott," Xavier said warily, "and Eric will do just about anything to get his own way. In the meantime, Storm find Rogue see if you can talk to her."

"I think Logan might be one step ahead of me."

"Yes, yes he is," he replied, his mind telepathically scouring the mansion, locating him and Rogue and the fact that the pair had just climbed into her midnight blue Jaguar.

* * *

Pyro despised the cold above all other things. He hated the creepy sensation his skin developed as the hairs on his skin rose. He hated the spasms that raced up and down his spine and the need to quickly seek warmth. It sickened him to the core that after many weeks, he still wasn't able to shake off Bobby's touch. It was eerie how his body reacted vilely to slightest to change in temper, and how his fingers still felt like little popsicles.

Conjuring flames helped. Oh, mother did they help. It helped alleviate his hunger for destruction, but did not curve his appetite for revenge. But soon, there would be retribution, and he was going to take pleasure in every minute of it.

He turned off the water, reached for a towel, and started to furiously dry his hair. Then, he stood back and overlooked himself in the bathroom mirror. He smirked at the dark strands that made up the wealth of hair on his head. It had grown in the weeks that followed after Alcatraz. Although, he hated his hair being longer—made him look like the boy he once was, instead of the man he was now—he was going have to look pretty in order for his plan to succeed.

Pyro cocked his head back as he heard the roar of a helicopter flying overhead. He acknowledged several other mutants taking refuge at the Magneto's fortress as he left his quarters and headed outside. The island base had become a haven for mutants and was a good distant twelve miles from the shore of Maine.

It was mid-February and terribly cold. He was greeted by a gust of wind kicked up by the helicopter's rotors.

He hung the towel on his head, narrowing his eyes as the engine was killed and Mystique and Eric emerged out the dense fog covering the island. Mystique walked straight by him, not stopping to give him a momentary glance. Pyro didn't care. It wasn't her report he was seeking.

"So," he asked Magneto, "what's going on? Are Rogue and I getting married?"

* * *

Author's Note: Like or Hate? Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Revenge is sweet, but forcing your enemy into marriage is even sweeter. Rogue/Pyro (Takes place after the X-Men: The Last Sand. Alternate Universe, most definitely.)

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men

Rating: T, for now, probably M in later chapters.

Author's Note: WOW! I wasn't expecting this much love and appreciation in so short a time. As a reward I give you all this chapter and I'll try to pump out more at a faster rate.

* * *

Unholy Matrimony

"You've dyed your hair," Magneto said, his cold, blue—calculative—eyes drifting over the pyrokinetic, and extremely volatile mutant standing in midst of a large entranceway leading into a fortress forged out of granite and steel. "Is this interest in personal hygiene for a certain young lady?"

Pyro scoffed, irritated, "You didn't answer my question about me and Rogue."

Magneto grinned and took a step forward and placed a gloved hand on Pyro's shoulder. "She will be yours—in time."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means Charles has two days to sway the young Rogue into accepting life, accepting this situation or witness the fury of other mutants enraged by the X-Men's…actions…on Alcatraz."

Pyro looked away, his mind going in a hundred different directions as he contemplated what action to take the next two days. He took a deep breath, inhaling the misty scent of the sea air. High in the sky, the sun's rays were starting to dissipate the fog blanketing the rocky terrain of the island. By now, he could see the deep, cerulean colors of the sea as waves lapped onto the shore. Sea gulls screeched as they plunged into the water, hunting for fish.

"How'd Rogue take it?" he asked, after a moment, never taking his eyes off the sea.

"She wasn't pleased," answered Magneto.

Pyro lowered his head, his mouth drawing into a grin, "I suspected as much."

What he expected more was how Bobby was reacting to the entire situation. Did it pain him to know he was going lose far more than he had on Alcatraz? Or was Rogue going to keep it under the surface—like she did her skin—for a long as possible just so she could play house a little while longer.

"Two days, huh?" he asked, tipping his head.

"Two days. In the meantime, come," Magneto said, entering the fortress, "There is much to be done. It appears our friend Mr. Madrox has found himself in a rather tight predicament. I need you and several others to break him out. You remember him don't you?"

How could Pyro forget?

James Madrox, aka Multiple Man, played a crucial role in aiding Magneto and other mutants to evade military foot soldiers after Mystique's—disloyalty. Laden with information and detailed files to go with her sources, she alerted the government on his affairs. She didn't take his dismissal of her too kindly after she inadvertently taken the cure on his behalf.

Pyro was just as surprise as any other mutant to see her return—Magneto accepting her willingness to fight for mutant domination—not without some heated arguing.

"He's being held in a secret government owned facility," said Pyro. "I'll need Mystique…though…" His mouth tipped. "That witch hates me."

"We did leave her behind," remarked Magneto.

* * *

"Here you go kid, drink up." Logan slid a Miller Lite across the table to Rogue, not giving a damn she was underage—although legal, eighteen, she still wasn't allowed to drink. Wolverine always thought that was dumbest rule in the world as he thought about all the young kids he'd seen die in senseless wars.

Kids, little kids…eighteen years or older.

Fragments of his memories were staring to return. The wars he'd fought in…the agony. Xavier had yet to explain why. Perhaps his stand off against Jean on Alcatraz—her ruthless assault had jarred something in his brain. He didn't know how, didn't really care at the moment. As much as he yearned to remember who he was, the bad horrors of his previous existence left him unglued.

Violent night sweats were now a ritual in his life… and…Jean…

Sulking, Logan knocked back his beer, deciding to leave that piece of drama in his life alone. Jean was with Scott now, reunited, happy, but rumors were rampant. They weren't sharing the same bed…and he was the reason why.

Draining the rest of his beer, he slammed the glass bottle on the table; belching, he growled and stole a glance the bar. It was pretty quiet; then again, it was only one-thirty in the afternoon. A few lowlifes and bums, and one or two skanky women hung around, but nothing to raise an eyebrow too. The real drinkers wouldn't arrive until dusk.

Where the real drinkers were—bar fights.

And Logan was itching for a good fight.

"You better drink up," he said, noticing how Rogue seemed lost in a daze, twirling beer around on the table. "Taste like piss when it's warm."

"Y' a'ways was direct," Rogue smiled faintly, lifting the bottle to her lips.

Logan narrowed his eyes, "I'm not gonna let this happen Rogue. To hell with what the Professor and others say, they were always scared little chicken shits anyway. Always waiting till all hell broke loose to do anything. If Magneto and those bastards do come…bring it on…I'll kill them all for you."

"So, now y' want t' be my protector again."

He blinked drawing back slightly. "I never stopped."

Rogue snorted, rolling her eyes, "Hasn't felt that way in a long time."

"There were other things going on."

"Like Jean?" she implied, staring at him through her dark, thick lashes. Logan's jaw hardened as he plopped back into his chair. "I'm not blind Logan and neither is Scott."

"Scott took off…when we needed him the most!"

She shook her head. "We! Don't act like y' care for the guy. Y' didn't …and n'ver had."

"He left!" Logan yelled.

"He thought Jean was dead, he couldn't hack it! The Professor …was in a coma so we didn't know where he went. If it weren't for y' and what y' did at her house she would've killed him. But it didn't help when Scott finally put the pieces of his shattered life together, and came home; he found y' bare naked with his fiancée."

"We both agreed it was a mistake," he grimaced.

"And that's suppose t' make everythin' a'right."

"Look!" He barked. "This isn't about me. This is about you and your impending engagement to that flame wielding prick."

Rogue paled and her lips tightened, "There ain't gonna be a weddin', Logan."

"Don't you think I know that!"

"And why me," she cried, "what's so special about me?"

Logan grinned, "Don't sell yourself short kid, you're not bad to look at. He's got taste I'd give the punk that."

"You never thought so," she muttered under lips.

Catching the expression on Logan's face, Rogue cheeks bloomed to a ruby red, as she mentally kicked herself in the rear for being so stupid. It's Wolverine for god's sake! The man could hear a pin drop in a loud, crowded room.

"Listen…Rogue," he exhaled.

Rogue jumped out the chair, spilling her beer. "I—I got to—to the bathroom."

Within minutes she'd reached the ladies restroom, a grungy hole in the back of bar. Hunched over the sink, she turned the faucet and started to splash water in her face.

"Y' moron. Y' idiot!" She screamed at herself in the mirror, breath coming in pants. Two years of mixed, suppressed feelings had all come bubbling out in one shot of beer. Now, he was going to sit her down like a child, explain to her that she was confused, and pat on her head. This was fine, considering the circumstances, and what everyone was expecting her to do.

She wasn't truly, madly, deeply in love with Wolverine. It was just a slip of the tongue. No harm done, she hoped.

"Who's got you so hot and bothered stripes," came a voice from behind her. "I certainly hope it's me."

Rogue whirled around to stare, horror-struck, in John's face. He wore a cocky grin on his face as he leaned coolly against the wall, a hand in his pocket. She glared at him with hateful eyes. He looked just the same as the day he stalked off the X-Jet, only to fall prey to Magneto's ruthless manipulations. The only problem was, he looked cuter, and his body more developed, muscular. He could definitely beat out Bobby in the looks department.

Black appeared to his favorite choice in color for he was dressed head to toe in the shade. But where were the spikes, the bleached yellow hair Bobby claimed he had when he told her about both their encounters.

"What the hell are y' doin' 'ere?" she hissed.

"Sshh! You don't want the Big Bad Wolf to come crashing through do you?"

"What're y' followin' me?"

Pyro laughed, "You would like that wouldn't you?"

"No," she snapped, folding her arms. "Y' got a lot of nerve talkin' to me after the stunt y' tryin' to pull."

"My hands are clean on this matter babe," said Pyro.

She darkened, "Don't call me babe."

A wicked smile broadened his pout, lips. "You better get used to it 'cause if things continue as they are—"

"They won't!"

"You don't actually believe the X-Men are gonna win this, do you?"

"I do."

Pyro snickered, shaking his head, pushing away from the wall. "You were always so damn naïve," he said, moving to her. "It's what I've always liked about you, Rogue."

Instinctively, Rogue stepped back, but was unable to create the void Pyro was easily filling by his movement. She let out a frightened cry when her body connected with the cold, dirty, bathroom wall.

"I bet," Pyro began, standing in front of her, a hand to the wall at the left side of her head. "You haven't told Bobby about our little nuptial."

"There is nothin' t' tell 'cause there ain't gonna be no nuptial," she spat out, eyes black with rage.

"Poor Rogue, still lingering on the sad note that he'll love you, or do you the way I could," he said, teasing a silk, platinum strand that was caressing her breast.

Seething, Rogue yanked off a glove, reading to drain Pyro to the core. Astonishingly, he grasped her hand with his bare fingers, encircling them about her wrist. She cried out as his essence poured into her. Zealous flames raced up her forearm, devouring ever cell in her body till she was consumed by a furious fire.

"Hurts don't it," he whispered weakly, the mind numbing pain of Rogue draining him, overpowering. "I was never afraid…like Bobby still is."

She tried to push him away, tried to evade the thoughts that swirled in her brain like a whirlpool. Memories…some joyous…some agonized…provoked her.

Pyro then kissed her. Bold, hot, their lips melded as he plunged his tongue uninvitingly into her mouth. She yelped as he pushed flush against her lithe frame, his hand still holding her wrist captive. Blinded, Rogue found herself lost in the intense flames consuming her, sending her to brink of insanity.

Before toppling to the floor, to twitch like a worm stuck on a hook, Pyro wrenched away; staggering back, gasping, desperate to replenish his depleted lungs and waned strength. Hunched forward, hands on his knees, he reclaimed his senses then lifted his eyes to grin at Rogue.

"Y' stupid idiot!" She cried, hustling out the bathroom, watching his pathetic state. Outside, she placed a hand over her trembling heart, collecting herself before going to the table where Logan sat waiting.

He knew, he knew without her even gaining a chance to open her mouth. He tore from the table, knocking his chair to the ground, and raced to the ladies room but Pyro was long gone.

"Hey," cried a floozy broad, in a tight red tank, and a leather black skirt as he roughly collided into her on his way back to Rogue.

Logan grasped Rogue at the shoulder, shaking her roughly. "What did he want? What did he do?"

* * *

Like it? Hate it? Please review.


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: Revenge is sweet, but forcing your enemy into marriage is sweeter. Rogue/Pyro (Takes place after X-Men: The Last Stand. Definitely Alternate Universe)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Rating: T

Author's Note: This is a rewrite to a previous chapter that I wrote and took down. I hope you like it.

* * *

Unholy Matrimony

"Another shot of whiskey? I think the Wolverine in your head is starting to take full control."

Rogue's eyes sank into the back of her skull as she took a deep, withering breath. She shuddered at the feel of leather brushing against the exposed area of skin where her white, silk opera gloves failed to cover her dangerous flesh. Skin so potent it was capable of leaving the biggest, strongest man in a vegetative state. She tugged at the sleeve to her dark green camisole as someone settled on the barstool next to her. A faint whiff of cheap cologne assaulted her nasal cavity and she cringed.

"Gadh," she muttered in anguish, "can my life get any worse."

She looked to find Pyro resting casually on the stool. He was facing her directly. One elbow was propped on the bar top and his legs were astride. He wore the same black leather jacket, faded t-shirt and jeans from the other day and the outfit seemed to match the smug look on his face. She bit the inside of her cheek as she downed another shot of Jack Daniels.

"What are y' doin' 'ere John? I came here for some kind of solitude. What? Are y' stalkin' me or somethin'?"

He snickered, "Hell no! This is my favorite joint. I come here whenever a job leads me to the shiny, bright lights of Atlantic City." He rotated in the stool, lightly pounding his hands on the bar top, and then angled his head, watching her. "You should know, after all, I'm in your head remember?"

Rogue groaned and hung her head low, staring intently at her Jimmy Choo boots. Jean had purchased them for her as a Christmas present last year. It never occurred to her but this was the first time she was actually wearing them. "Don't remind me," she grimaced.

"What's the matter? Aren't you glad to see me again?"

She snorted, "I thought after our last encounter y' be down and out for several days."

"Please, I've been hit harder than that."

She peered at him from out the corner of her eyes, "So Bobby told me," she grinned as the sly smirk he wore like a badge of honor disappeared from his lips. "Is that the only outfit y' own?" She asked taking him fully into focus, swaying a little on her stool as the second hit of hard alcohol rushed into her brain.

"Well," he scoffed, "I don't have a wealthy benefactor in my corner."

"Oh, please…Magneto's got collateral," she hissed vehemently, wishing he would disappear like all the problems she was dealing with at this point. "I heard he's almost as rich as the Professor."

Pyro shrugged. "Maybe, but he's a miser and doesn't like to spend his money on things that are not important." He signaled the bartender, an overweight, middle age man who had apparently seen his fair share of rough days. Pyro ordered a Miller Lite before adjusting his position on the stool to look at Rogue.

"But harassing me is important," she snapped.

"I thought I was making polite conversation." The bartender served up a tall frosted glass and poured the amber liquid. Pyro picked up the glass and took a long swig of his beer.

Rogue exploded with rage, drawing a few curious glances. "This shit ain't funny anymore. Y' gonna stop this John I mean it. Leave me alone!"

He simply blinked. "I take you didn't like the pictures I sent you."

Color rose in her cheeks. Her mouth trembled. She was so angry she could literally smack the grin off his face. She could tear him to pieces with her bare hands as she recalled the yellow envelope that had arrived earlier in the day. It had been addressed to Bobby. They were pictures of her and John kissing in the bathroom of the local dive Logan had dragged her to last week. Along with them was a note.

_You see how easy she can be mine. It's only a matter of time._

The bastard had set her up.

Bobby was livid and she was so mortified she didn't know what to say. All explanations seem futile when the evidence was there being frosted in his now ice-cold hand. It also didn't help to have Logan come in and give his input on the situation. He left her tearful, pleading, but by the coming evening she was despondent if not angry. Who was he to talk about loyalty? The amount of times she seen him looking all nice and cozy with Kitty, it was enough to make her sick.

Long ago, she never had any doubt about Bobby's feelings. She knew the moment he conjured the ice rose on her first day at the mansion they would be together. Yet somehow…as the months went by…there was a change. A subtle change. It was easy to blame Kitty as being the wedge in their lives. Easy to blame Bobby too. But the horrible truth was there was no one to lay fault for crumbling love life…only one element was tearing them apart.

Her skin.

After all the time they'd spent together, Bobby was still afraid. And she hated it. Hated the way he'd flinch whenever she reached over to take his hand. Even when she had her gloves on…she sensed his hesitation. It was later in the evening that the nauseating feeling in the pit of her stomach made her incredibly ill. Her attempt to sweep the incident with John under the rug was blown over by a shocking discovery.

"Rogue!" She gawked in sheer horror and disgust as Bobby scrambled to stand up off his bed and struggled to pull his pants up. Utterly embarrassed, Kitty—a hand covering her mouth—jumped to her feet and raced to the bathroom.

Rogue stood half frozen in the doorway; the torrid image burning like a fire in her mind. It was when Bobby aimed to touch her that she reacted…drew back in revulsion. Tears breaking forth, she turned and sprinted down the hall, eyes clouded as she wept. Desperate to get away, to avoid bumbling explanations and apologies she knew weren't genuine or heartfelt, she ran into the garage she climbed into a sleek, midnight blue Jaguar. A birthday gift courtesy of the Professor when she turned sixteen. She didn't know how long she sat there before she cranked the engine and sped off into the oncoming night.

"Ugh, god," she moaned, clawing a gloved hand into her long, tussled hair, curling a platinum strand around her ear. A shiver ran up her spine and she gripped her drink as discouraging memory zipped through her head. Rogue grunted, strived to shake the incident out of her head. But it was still there…replying itself like a musical box.

It was then she felt John shadow fall on her; tipping her head she saw him come to stand beside her, chugging his beer. "Having problems with 'Mr. Perfect'?"

"Go away John," she hissed with venom, "please just go away."

He wasn't deterred and moved up against her as a slow song started to play over the jukebox. "You want to know how to mend a broken heart," he murmured close to her ears. "You dance with the enemy."

Rogue looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, "I wouldn't dance with y'," she began, "if y' paid me to." To her surprise, he slapped twenty bucks right in front of her; the action dragging a startled breath out of her. Without waiting for a 'yes' he took her gloved hand and hauled her off her stool. She staggered in her boots, the heels scrapping the floor. She cursed under her breath as he swung her onto the dance floor.

She shoved him back roughly, "I told y' I don't wanna dance John."

She moved to flee. He gripped the upper portion of her arm in a vice like grip, pulling her close. "Don't be such a bitch Rogue! I'm sure Bobby isn't anxiously awaiting your return."

Her eyes glittered and she could feel hot tears forming in her tear ducts. "No thanks to y' and y' little stunt."

"Oh, come on now," he chuckled, grinning, looping his arm around her slim waist. "You can't kill me for a joke."

In spite of the foulness in her mood, she felt good in his arms, soft and warm, and she smelled really nice. John tucked her close to his body, she didn't resist but merely placed her hands on his shoulders; thinking if she just let him have his dance he would disappear. He hugged her closely, loving the feel of her right thigh brushing his already throbbing erection. Damn! She barely realized the influence she have did she. She could have any guy eating out the palm of her hand instead she settled for an uptight, self-righteous ass.

Rogue's soft green eyes altered into glowing hot emeralds as heat rose into her cheeks. "T'was no joke, y' ruinnin' my life and my relationship with Bobby."

"What relationship? You guys never really had a relationship. Not one that really counted," he said, twirling easily, and dropped in her into dip. Rogue caught her breath, her face flushing, and he grinned.

"Then what the hell was all that dating we were doin'?"

"Distraction." He said plainly.

"Y' asshole," she hissed vehemently.

"Truth hurts, but let's be real. Your skin, a hot-blooded male in his prime…sex is a factor and from the look of things," he traced his thumb along the area of skin not concealed. He felt the faintest pull and retreated to the safety of the gloved arm. "Bobby wasn't going to hit it any time soon."

Enraged, Rogue wiggled out his arms, stepping back away from John. "Y' so crude," she said.

Returning to the place she was sitting, she snatched up her purse and what remained of her wounded pride. She stormed out of the night club. The bright lights of Atlantic City hit her from all directions. The heat of the night made her mood all the more foul as she fazed into a bustling crowd of tourist, gamblers and avid residents. Shifting through the contents of her purse she searched for her keys. She found them at the bottom of her Gucci bag and gripped them in her hand.

Eyes blinded with tears, she made it her car, grateful she hadn't bubble into a weeping mess in front of John. God! How he loved to toss her misery in her face. She had some difficulty sticking the key into the slot, and let out an anguished cry when it slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground.

Desperately, she searched, but her car was parked too close to a darkened corner; far from the fluorescent colored light that lit hotels and casinos standing on each corner of the famous boardwalk. She yelp at the feel of a hand encircling her arm, and came face to face with John. "You dropped this," he said, dangling her keys.

"Thanks, now piss off," she snapped, ripping them out his hand.

"You're in no condition to drive," he lingered watching as she tried to open the door.

"Fuck off!"

"Let me do it," he reached out took the keys from her, silencing her angry protest by opening the car door, and giving her a slight shove inside. Circling round, he slid into the driver side. "Nice ride," he commented, smoothing his hand on the leather steering wheel.

"I don't need a chauffeur," Rogue slurred drunkenly.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood," he retorted, turning the ignition and the Jaguar roared to life. The tires squealed as the car sped down the street. Being Friday night, the Atlantic City boardwalk was booming with life. The streets were jam-packed with cars and people, yet to her surprise John maneuvered fluidly through the mayhem with ease.

"Where to?" he asked gruffly, "Home?"

"No."

"Some people might be worried about you."

"I don't care," Rogue rubbed her eyes, fighting the urge to cry again. "I don't wanna go home."

"Why not?"

She scoffed, glaring at him. "Just take me some place…I don't care where? Just don't take me back there!"

They drove in silence a long while before he said, "I got a place…safe house really…not too ritzy for your particular…"

"Whatever…fine. Now shut up and drive."


	4. Chapter 4

Summary: Revenge is sweet, but forcing your enemy into marriage is sweeter. Rogue/Pyro (Takes place after X-Men: The Last Stand. Definitely Alternate Universe)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Rating: T

Author's Note: A new chapter and a new PC. Finally got the collateral to buy one. I hope you all like this chapter, it's the last one of this year. New ones will come January 2011. Happy New Year.

* * *

Unholy Matrimony

Within twenty or so minutes, they had reached a tall, dreary looking building that was a good distance from the glitz and bright lights of the casinos drawing the masses to Atlantic City. Killing the engine, John got out of the car, circled the front to Rogue's side and opened her door. He shook his head and watched as she spilled out her seat in an ungainly like manner and struggled to find her footing.

"I'm fine, I got it!" Rogue snapped, pushing Pyro in the chest, stopping his efforts to come to her rescue as though she were need of saving. She desired none. She simply wanted to be left alone. If only he had taken the hint.

He gave her a cynical and disbelieving look, "Yeah, that's what you said about driving," and without asking for permission he slinked his arm about her waist, ushering her to the building. They entered a dark foyer and he led her to the stairs, their steps echoed in deathly quiet building. The climb to the first floor left Rogue dizzy and breathless.

"What the fuck?" she hiccupped, her head swimming she nearly tripping in her boots, and had to cling to John for support. "Ain't 'ere an elevator?"

"Busted," he snorted and cutely pinched her waist, "Come on fatty just three more flights to go."

"Fatty!"

"Pudgy? Chubby?"

"You're a dick," muttered Rogue.

"Hmm, so I was told." He chuckled as he took her by the arm and guided up two more flights until they reached his floor. Rogue complained grouchily, and strived to keep her head from spiraling out to its own orbit. She set her jaw, wishing she had Logan's healing ability. She knew by morning she would have an earth-shattering headache. The third wave of alcohol hit her suddenly and without warning her legs gave way. Knowing she was doomed to take a nasty spill Pyro caught her and scooped her up in his arms in a bridal manner.

A chill rippled up Rogue's spine in light of the intimate manner in which he was holding her. As though it were always supposed to be there, she rested her head on his shoulder, hooking an arm about his neck. He was incredibly warm to her amazement and quietly chastised herself. He was John, a flame wielder…manipulator…which at one time he annoyed the hell out of her with the constant opening and closing of his damn lighter.

Now, he was Pyro. A powerful mutant. Fanatic. Dangerous. Loyalty was tied him to a man who once tried to kill her. Rogue thought she should be terrified for her life. Here she was in his company brought on by a traitorous circumstance. She was, after all, a member of the X-Men and he was with the Brotherhood.

He set her down and leaned her against the wall. "We're here." He dove into his pocket to his retrieve his keys. "Whoops!" A hand snatched out to steady Rogue as she swayed and rocked forward, almost falling to the floor. "You can do that when you're close to the bed."

"Bed?" Rogue slurred, clutching the lapels of his black leather jacket. "John, y' naughty, naughty boy. Y' could've at least taken me to dinna first."

His lip curled, "These days most girls skip dinner."

"Now watch it Johnny-boy I ain't no cheap—"

"Don't call me that!" He snapped bitterness in the tone.

"What? John?"

His eyes glowed as his mouth twisted in contempt. "Yeah, that. It's not who I am anymore."

She looked at him with those same sad, green eyes, the very ones he encountered when they first met, over three years ago. The memory struck him because she was so scared, so vulnerable. She yearned for a friend, a shoulder to cry on at least. He would've, could've been there. If not for Bobby…he scowled…brushing the past aside. That ship had sailed a long time ago.

He stiffened when she reached out and placed a gloved hand on his shoulder. The silk material gliding into his hair as she cupped the back of his head. "But it is who y' are," Rogue said, lost in the warmth emanating from his body like a radiator. "It's what y' always will be t' me."

With the wiles of a drunken barmaid, she took his mouth in a tantalizing kiss, and with an expertise that shocked the hell out of him. John stood paralyzed by what was occurring. Sure they'd kiss before, but this was something new altogether. For one, there was nothing. No pull. Nothing. Rogue, herself, had barely noticed.

At this moment, her toxic skin would be draining the life out of him and he'd be on the ground twitching like a worm on a hook. Instead, he felt zilch but the electrifying sensation of her tongue invading, discovering, and claiming his mouth.

The fire stoked he cupped the small of her back and guided her to the wall; taking her mouth with the same urgency as she had. Hands flying to every part of her body, he stroked her hips, thighs, cupped her buttocks. Rogue let out a throaty moan as she felt his hard erection rub intimately against her pelvis and thought she heard a deep chuckle rise in his throat. Heat settled in the one place she wished his hands was, but right now she was more than satisfied with hands in her hair, on her back and yes…on her breast.

John slipped his hand underneath her dark blue camisole. His heart raced when his hand contacted soft lace concealing her ample breast. Total mind blower, considering he always imagined her in casual Fruit of the Loom underwear not some wicked lingerie churned out by Victoria Secret. He felt his blood rush to his penis as he lifted her shirt. In the muted light, he saw the outline of white lace and creamy skin and pliant pink nipples. His bottom lip curled into his mouth as he stifled a groan.

Unable to resist, he bent his head and licked the cleavage between her breasts. Rogue shivered and let out a throaty sigh. She was ready, putty in his hands. How long had he wanted to see her this way? How long he wished to taste every inch of her and cause her to come so loudly it would tear down the building. It would be so easy to take her right then and there. Too easy. Honor pricked at the back his skull like a needle. He made a face; it's been a long time since it showed its noble face. Yet he couldn't brush it aside. Deep down, he knew he couldn't, not now, not when she was like this. Not when everything was starting to fall into motion…and he respected her…only some much.

Too bad she was an X-Men.

He retreated, unwillingly, capturing her gloved hands as they began to fiddle with his belt buckle. Rogue stared up at him in question. He felt moved by her expression then hardened and gripped her hands tightly. "Are you doing this because of Bobby?" he demanded.

Her face scrunched in rage, "What do y' think I'm looking for a pity fuck?"

"I wouldn't think so," he said coldly, his lip curled. "Last I remember the two of you weren't exactly sweating in the sheets due to technicalities."

Anguish sliced its way across Rogue's face and her mouth quivered. She glowered at John. "Thanks, y' certainly know how t' make a girl feel better."

She turned tripping in her boots in a pathetic attempt to storm down the hall. "You're not going anywhere," Pyro rudely gripped the upper part of her arm, dragging her inside his tiny apartment.

"Hey!"

Slamming the door close, he roughly tossed her to one side and turned around to lock the door. "You're in no condition to drive."

"Like y' care," she hissed, rubbing her arm, "and thanks for the warm hospitality."

"You're welcome."

He shrugged out his jacket, tossing it aimlessly on a tattered sofa chair. "The bed's over there. You can sleep off the booze."

"And then what?"

He stared at her, a brow arching. "And then what…what? I'm not keeping you here against you're will. You can go home in the morning it makes no difference to me."

"I told y' I don't wanna go home," she let out a weary breath.

"You're serious," he said stunned. "So, what happened?"

"I thought y' knew."

"Why don't you tell me?"

She lowered her eyes in dismay, "Nothing I wanna talk about."

"Suit yourself," he busied himself in the fridge, cursing under his breath when he found nothing to eat.

Crossing the short distance, she sank onto the bed. The springy mattress squeaked under her weight and she folded her arms about her chest. Tears stung her eyes in memory of Bobby's betrayal and she started to wonder if he was even worrying about where she was. What she was doing? She imagined him turning white as snow if he knew she was here with John. Wouldn't it be just what he deserved.

She swayed as the fourth shot of whiskey took root. She heard footsteps and gazed upwards to see John walking to her. He kneeled in front of her a strange sort of tenderness (uncommon by his nature) in his eyes. "Kitty…huh…?"

Rogue pinched her bottom lip with her teeth, eventually giving into the unshed tears. "Yeah…Kitty…"

"Figures," he scoffed and rose to his full height. "I'm not going to lie to you Rogue, Bobby always was a scumbag. Even before you or Kitty came to the mansion he had a circle of females to choose from. If it weren't for your mutation he would've probably humped you then dump you at his earliest convenience. You were a challenge…a puzzle he couldn't solve."

A look of shock rose in her eyes, forcing her mouth open. "There were other girls! Why didn't y' tell me 'bout 'em?"

"Would you have believed me," he said, annoyed, and checked his watch. "I gotta make a run. Get some rest, I'll be back soon."

"Y' leavin'?" she asked, somehow anxious at the thought of losing his company.

"Yeah, while I'm gone take a load off," he gestured with his chin to the bed, indicating she lay down, and sleep off the booze. "You don't look so hot at the moment. You like a weepy eyed raccoon…one of those soap operas."

"Bite me," Rogue spat, kicking off her boots as she yanked back the covers. Astonishingly, the bed was soft and the blanket was warm and comforting as though John had just crawled out the bed after taking a nap. Sleep came quickly and her eyelids grew heavy.

John stood and watched as Rogue drifted off to sleep. Walking over to the small table, he picked up his jacket. Her car keys jingled as he slipped into it and headed out the door. Exiting the building, he walked up the block before reaching for his cell phone to dial a number...encrypted.

"She's with me, it was far easier than I expected," he said to the person who answered on the other line.

"Excellent," Magneto retorted, "I'll instruct our mutant brothers to make the next move. If everything goes according to plan young Rogue will be begging you to take her away from the X-Men."

"Let's just hope Destiny is right about her."

"Mystique's former lover assures me that Rogue is the catalyst to mutant domination. That fool Charles does not realize the gold mine he has in his possession. This marriage is just to keep him and his damn X-Men off our scent. Now, do you have the wedding rings?"

John dipped his hands into this pants pocket and felt two small hoops clink together. "Yeah, I'm on my way to pick up the marriage license and pictures Mystique forged. Rogue's upstairs in my apartment. She's totally wasted; thanks to Bobby, convincing her that we are man and wife will be a piece of cake."

"Good," said Magneto. "Alert me if there has been any change in her powers."

For some strange reason, John did not feel inclined to tell Magneto about Rogue's ability to touch without producing significant damage. It was at the tip of his tongue but failed to come forth. Instead, he hung up the phone and headed returned back to Rogue's car.

()()()()

The next morning Rogue awoke to an earth-splitting headache and a terrible taste in her mouth. She called herself every kind of fool when she attempted to sit up on the cramp little bed she occupied. The mattress squeaked as she rolled from her side to her back. Stabbing pain sailed from the back of her skull to the front. Her legs cramped and she knew she'd been sleeping on a spring for in the night she felt something digging into her side and back. Her eyes smarted as the sun's rays blinded her for a brief moment.

"Ugh, gah," she groaned, rubbing her hands over her face, yet even that effort was intense. Every movement caused her a great deal of discomfort. Could one's hair hurt? Hers did. She ran her hands through wild strands that were now annoyingly falling into her face. A wave of nausea curdled her stomach. She clapped a hand on her forehead for several seconds until the dizziness passed and then took a greater interest in her surroundings.

The apartment was single bedroom. The kitchen was small…teeny tiny with a closet sized door to what was probably a real small bathroom. A table and two chairs sat to her right next to a rectangular window. A white sheet hung lifelessly, failing in every way to block out the offensive light that spilled into the small apartment. Rogue blinked, taking this time to think (if it were possible) of where she was and last twenty-hours that had faded from her memory. She recalled leaving the mansion…the long drive to New Jersey…oh, yes…she remembered John.

His presence in her life was unwelcomed but somehow anticipated. As if she just knew at any moment, he was show up like a bad penny. However, fortune had not been so great, neither was the sight of seeing her boyfriend receiving oral sex from her friend.

Former friend!

Rogue bit her bottom lip until she tasted blood. Anger percolated beneath the surface of her skin, until she felt like a kettle boiling with hot water, ready to bust. Just wait when she got back to the mansion, she was going to fix that 'phasing through walls' tart and Bobby…

She startled suddenly, clenching sheets in her hands, squeezing them tightly to her chest.

The noise was throaty, masculine…a deep intake of breath like someone arising from a deep sleep. Her heart started pumping at a million miles a minute. Rogue, ever so slowly, turned her head to behold John lounging next to her. An arm flung over his face shielded his eyes from the blinding rays of sun beaming through the haphazardly covered window.

His bare chest was broad, toned, glowed under yellowing sunlight and was dusted with flecks of brown hair. He was lean, cut with hard abs giving way to narrow hips well concealed beneath the layer of sheets. Rogue's mouth went inexplicably dry. It was not clear if he had clothes, if any, and it was definitely clear that she was in nothing but her under. Her thoughts went wild. What the hell was John doing? More importantly, why was she almost naked?


	5. Chapter 5

Summary: Revenge is sweet, but forcing your enemy into marriage is sweeter. Rogue/Pyro (Takes place after X-Men: The Last Stand. Definitely Alternate Universe)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Rating: T

Author's Note: I'm sorry to take so long to upload. I've rewritten the ending of the last chapter. I think that was the reason I couldn't get this chapter up as quickly as I should have. It was too passive in my opinion. Anyway, here's another chapter, don't hate me.

* * *

Unholy Matrimony

Last Chapter:

_"She's with me, it was far easier than I expected," John said to the person who answered on the other line._

_"Excellent," Magneto retorted, "I'll instruct our mutant brothers to make the next move. If everything goes according to plan young Rogue will be begging you to take her away from the X-Men."_

_"Let's just hope Destiny is right about her."_

_"Mystique's former lover assures me that Rogue is the catalyst to mutant domination. That fool Charles does not realize the gold mine he has in his possession. This marriage is just to keep him and his damn X-Men off our scent. Now, do you have the wedding rings?"_

_John dipped his hands into this pants pocket and felt two small hoops clink together. "Yeah, I'm on my way to pick up the marriage license and pictures Mystique forged. Rogue's upstairs in my apartment. She's totally wasted; thanks to Bobby, convincing her that we are man and wife will be a piece of cake."_

_"Good," said Magneto. "Alert me if there has been any change in her powers."_

_For some strange reason, John did not feel inclined to tell Magneto about Rogue's ability to touch without producing significant damage. It was at the tip of his tongue but failed to come forth. Instead, he hung up the phone and headed to the all night post office to the marriage certificates and photos from a rented P.O. Box._

()()()()

John marched out of the all night post office like a man on a mission. Secured in his inside coat pocket was evidence. Forged wedding photos and a marriage certificate were sealed within the large yellow envelop. Taking a sneak peak, he plucked the pictures out of the envelope. The images bowled him over. Mystique had stood in for Rogue to ensure the photos looked authentic. Pyro shuddered. The idea of him having to pose in an intimate manner with the chameleon made his skin crawl. Stuffing the pictures away, he headed up the street and climbed into Rogue's car. Hell yeah, he had taken it. Why not? It was not every day he got to drive a Jaguar.

It was a sick ride.

He slid into the leather interior, basking in the opulent luxury and the state of the art technology at his fingertips. He curled his hand around the wheel. Damn. The car was what dreams were made of. Every guy's wet dream and taking center stage was Rogue; sweet and pliant. His thought returned to their hot interlude in the hallway and his pulse went up three beats. He could still taste her lips. Cherry-vanilla. His mouth curled into a grin. It was a taste he could grow to like.

Involuntarily, Pyro shook his himself; mentally rebuking. This was business, not pleasure. He was here on a mission. Rogue was a means to an end. He'd been tracking her for the last two months. Magneto's orders. Even before the Master of Magnetism made an impromptu visit to the mansion where he unveiled his proposal he'd been tailing her. He was at the bar just outside New Jersey when she walked in with Logan—her ol' ball and chain. After that wild kiss in the bathroom he kept his distance, though his flesh still hummed after their passionate ardor. He knew he had to maintain a clear head. He'd tailed her to mansion. Shopping escapades to the mall with her two dimwitted friends. Each time he was always within reach.

Driving at high-speed, he cleared the streets in fifteen minutes, returning to the bar they'd left earlier in the night. At a little after two a.m. the placed had wind down, the streets were quiet, hardly a person moved inside the bar. He peered through the glass and tapped on the window, waited patiently, and tapped again. He saw someone come from the back and move across the dark tavern in slow lumbering steps. A massive body shadowed behind the glass, before a large beefy hand jerked in the direction to the door. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, John made his way to the entrance now being opened for him, and slipped in.

Cain, the bartender, looked at him with scrutiny then turned and walked heavily to the bar. He heaved his massive bulk onto a tiny stool and continued to polish a set of wine glasses. "Yeh late," he boomed in a deep, heavily accented baritone voice.

Without a word, John dug into the back of pants pocket, and fished out a stack of cash, tossing it on the surface of the bar table.

Cain looked at the crisp hundred dollar bills then flung a bleak gaze on Pyro. "Payment for services rendered?"

"You did your job," answered Pyro, hands once again sliding deep into his coat pockets as he shifted his stance.

He tossed his eyes about the establishment and settled them on Cain once more. He was huge, due to his mutation, colossal in size. Powerful biceps bulged as he worked the cloth in and out of each wine glass before placing them on the tray.

"You have Magneto's gratitude."

"How is the old fart anyhow?"

"The same," John simply shrugged. "A life devoted to world domination."

"Last I heard he got doped up on that bloody Cure."

"Recovered," John replied shortly.

Cain snorted; obviously the lad was in no mood for a conversation. He took interest in the green pieces of paper that made the world turn. Thick, sausage size fingers skimmed the bills, his eyes growing to thin slits. "A thousand?" His eyes became like dark orbs as he glared at Pyro. "That's pretty low, considerin' the fact that Rohypnol is practically illegal in this damn state. Yeh know the trouble I went through to smuggle a shipment in." Embittered, he shoved the bills aside. They skidded across the surface, falling over the edge. "This don't even cover the cost of expenses. And I don't feel comfortable slippin' 'Roofies' into a girl's drink. That's gonna cost yeh."

"That wasn't a part of the deal," said Pyro.

"Deals changed."

A murderous rage emerged from the depths of John's soul. His eyes were mired in black rage. He could feel the heat rising in his skull. "Well," he began, "I know what Magneto will say. That I should kill you and burn you bar to ground."

Something cracked in Cain's expression. Something obscure but terrifying. He surged to his feet, towering over John like an ominous shadow. His large powerful hands flexing and un-flexing. "Yeh fuckin' little piss ant. I do you a favor and this is the fuckin' gratitude. I outta crush your skull."

As he took a menacing step forward, Pyro tossed three more stacks of cash on the counter. Cain spied the money and his lip curled in a shrewd smile. Picking up one stack he leafed through the money. "Now, that's more like it." Rotating sharply, John turned to leave.

"I didn't think yeh were such a pussy-cat Pyro…" The door slammed shut and he chuckled. "Running from a fight the little pansy." He walked behind the bar counter and scraped up the first set of bills he'd furiously pushed over the side. Setting the cash into four separate piles, he started to count his small fortune. He never made it to the second stack.

A thunderous explosion of fire tore through the establishment, igniting the bar into a raging inferno. From the other side of the street, John stood on the sidewalk taking interest in his handiwork. He watched the blaze grow higher to consume the entire building. Rotating, he walked casually down the street toward the Jaguar.

()()()()

Rogue was still asleep when John crept back into his tiny hole on the fourth floor. He watched her for a brief moment. She turned and moaned and stretched—arching like a cat in his bed. He turned aside quickly, the very sight of her in his bed was driving him up the wall. He set to work, scattering the pictures on the table; allowing some to fall on the floor. With the bottle of wine he'd stored away, he poured half the bottle down the sink, and then poured some into wine glasses he placed on the table.

Next, he went to Rogue, and began to take off her clothes. She was dead to the world. The 'Roofies' had definitely done its work. He yanked off her boots and his nimble fingers went to her jeans. He wasn't shy about seeing her halfway naked. Just the opposite. His heart had kicked into high gear as the blood rushed to his groin. She looked incredible in white lace; a striking contrast to her pallor skin. It looked creamy, smooth to touch. He felt the softness of it when his fingers skimmed her flesh as he pulled off her jeans. Even more shocking, he also noticed that once again, her powers had no effect on him.

"Interesting," he whispered, taking a mental note as he chucked the jeans onto the floor and positioned himself further up the bed to remove her blouse.

He met white, sumptuous breast beneath sinful lace and gulped. Against all logic, he skimmed the padded tips of his fingers over the swell of her breath. Rogue moaned, sucking in a whiff of air, shuffling on the bed. John jumped back. It was too much. And worst of all, he had to strip to his boxers, climb in beside her just to make the whole thing look real. John whispered a silent prayer, hoping to survive the night.

Kicking off his boots, he unbuckled his pants, shoving them past his ankles. Next, he did away with his jacket and shirt, tossing them aimlessly on the floor. Hunkering down, he took out two small pills, and crossing to the table, he poured a glass of wine.

"Bottom's up," he toasted, popping the little blue pills into his mouth, and taking a huge gulp of wine. He placed the glass on the table. "Shit." Remembering the key pieces to this little ploy, he reached for his pants and pulled out the wedding rings. He grinned, speaking into the darkness. "I know pronounce you husband and wife."

()()()()

The next morning, John awoke to an explosion in his eardrum. A scream so loud, it sent him flying off the bed, and crashing with a thud onto the hardwood floor. From underneath the bed, he found the source to the massive trauma that caused his ears to ache. Rogue was flying here and there, babbling, screaming, acting all loopy. Despite a hangover, it was rather fetching watching her run around in her underwear.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," she kept saying, digging for her clothes, weaving slightly. The buzz from last night had not completely kicked.

John crawled onto the mattress, dragging the sheet up over his limbs. Determined somehow to catch another few minutes of sleep. "Good morning to you too sunshine."

Her eyes as big as saucers, Rogue gawked at John. "Are y' crazy? Lying beside meh like that? I could of kill yeh."

"I'm alive aren't I," he said in a muffled voice.

Rogue drew on her dark camisole, before pulling on her jacket. She was blushing so hard she knew her face was probably as bright a red balloon. John had seen her without her clothes on, and yet he was acting like he didn't care; which should say a lot about what happened last night. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or a little disappointed. But that was the story of her life.

"Y' really are stupid y' know," she spat out, zipping up her jeans, and then dropped on all fours to seek out her boots. They were worth five hundred dollars a pop; she was _going_ to find them.

John flopped onto his back, easing up on his elbows, looking down at her through blood shot eyes. "Listen, can't a guy lie next to his wife if he wants to."

"What?" Rogue cried out and slammed her head against a board under the bed. She surface, grabbing the back of her skull, pain etched deep in her face.

He rolled to his side, pulling the sheet on his head. He held up his left hand, displaying the symbol of matrimony on his fourth finger. "You don't remember."

"Remember what?" Rogue felt sick as she stared at the gold ring on his finger.

He lowered the sheet, a cheeky smile on his face. "We got married, baby."

Pyro couldn't recall her ever being so strong or that tough. Like a deranged woman, she dived on top of him, hammering his face and torso with furious licks. A wealth of obscenities poured out her mouth with such frenzy, he thought she was demon possessed. He managed to gain the upper hand, pushing her roughly to the floor.

"What are you fuckin' crazy?" he roared, rearing up.

Rogue sprang to her feet and punched him cruelly in the face. "Y' sick freak!"

"Takes on to know one," he shot back, tasting blood, and wiping his lip.

"Is this some kind of twisted game?" she hissed. "Did Magneto put you up to this?"

John rolled out bed; he was too vulnerable there and he wasn't about to endure anymore of her physical abuse. He swayed towards the table, shaking off the effects of the little blue pills Magneto was adamant he take. He went to the fridge and nabbed a bottle of beer. "He didn't personally perform the ceremony if that's what you're saying." Twisting off the cap, he took a large swig. He glared at her. "You want proof," he growled. He lifted the bottle and held the cool glass to his already swelling lips. "Here…a wedding present." He went to the table and picked up the pictures flinging them in her face.

"Hell of a way to start a marriage don't you think," his voice cutting like a knife.

Rogue caught one or two of the printed pages, immediately they slipped between her fingers. She tried to shake what she saw out of her head, but the images were already present, burning a hole in mind. She knelt and picked up one picture taking a closer look. It was more than she could bear. And feeling a tight squeeze she too bore on her ring finger made the situation resoundingly real. A quick glimpse on her left hand sent Rogue barreling out John's tiny apartment.

"Rogue! Aahh, shit!" he snarled. He plowed outside and race down the hall, just in time to her running down the stairs. He rushed back into his apartment, hauled on his jeans and t-shirt, and snatched up her keys still in his coat pocket. Conveniently she had left them behind. Well, she wasn't in her right state of mind.

Taking the stairs two at a time, John burst out his building and slid into her car. The need was urgent. He had to find Rogue or Magneto would hand his ass over to Mystique; who would be more than willing to dispense her own form of retribution after he followed Magneto in suite by leaving her behind in the armored truck.

Luckily, he didn't have to travel far. He spotted her charging up the street. She looked pissed. The Jaguar came to a screeching halt as he pushed a button to make the windows go down. "Rogue! Rogue, get your ass in the car!"

She whirled around livid. "Screw yeh asshole," and she gave him the finger.

"Hateful bitch," he seethed with rage, slamming his fist on the wheel. He maneuvered out of traffic, gliding into a parking space. He got out and jogged after her. Without catering to the fact that they were in public and in broad day light he grabbed her, heaving her over his shoulder caveman style. Rogue screamed and writhed. Thrashing, hissing, she kicked like an alley cat.

Opening the trunk, he tossed her inside, and slammed it on top of her head. "Get out of that if he you can," he shouted, ignoring her screams. Pyro quickly circled to the driver's side. He saw a mother with her small child looking at him; horror on her face. "What the fuck are you looking at?" She gripped her son's hand and scurried away terrified.

"Bitch."

He climbed into the car and started the engine; the tires squealed as he tore down the asphalt. "You can scream your head off no one is going to hear," he said to the never ending banging and screams coming from the back of the car. Fast and furious. John drove. Never stopping till he was a least six miles outside the city. Exiting off US 30, he stopped at deserted clearing, and got out of the car. He was ever mindful once he opened the trunk. Rogue flew out swinging. He dodged her furious kicks and licks, shoving her hard into the dirt.

"So what?" he bellowed. "We got married. It's not the end of the world. It's not like I fucked you even if I wanted to."

"Y' scumbag," she roared, leaping to her feet, lashing out furiously she clocked him again in the jaw.

John caught her wrist, twisting her arm savagely behind her back. He thrust her down on the trunk of her car. He hissed and looked down to see that his hand was making contact with her bare skin; her poisonous flesh was active slowly seeping the life from his body.

He winced. Not caring at the moment. He'd had enough of her childish antics. "I've done some shitty things in my life," he spoke harshly. "But I will not let some bitchy little X-chick treat me this way. You put your hands on me again and I will tear that ass you. You got me!" He hauled her up, shoving her aside. "I-95 is that way. You can run home to Pa Logan and weep in his lap. I sure he's dying to know just what you've been up to."

He started walking, his nostrils flaring; his heart pounding in his ribcage. He got into the car; his blood was boiling. In the rear view mirror, he saw his bottom lip had once again cracked open and started bleeding. "Shit." He wiped the blood away with the black of his hand and fired up the car. Rogue was at his door side.

"Y' not gonna leave me here."

She sounded frightened. He glanced up. Now, she was afraid. "You bet your sorry ass I am." He left her in the dust, punching towards nowhere. He had no sense of direction. He didn't care. He had to get away from her before he killed her. He hated Magneto for putting him in this situation. Hated himself for even liking the idea. Hated himself for wanting her so damn much…and want her he did. Ever since he first laid eyes on her when she came to mansion looking all scared and pathetic. He wanted to be near her, kiss her, mend her broken heart.

"Fuck you Bobby," he yelled. "This is all your fault!"

Bobby was partly the reason he'd left the X-Men. It made him sick to his stomach to be around those two. They walked around the place looking like a mini Scott and Jean. Worst off, he'd become the odd man out. Once they were a threesome, now it was Bobby and Rogue, and he was the guy who had nothing better to do but hang around and interfere in their love life.

After thirty minutes, his temper faded. Guilt took hold. What was he doing? He couldn't leave her out in the middle of nowhere for some psycho to prey on. Of course, her lethal skin would make it impossible for a rapist to take advantage. Nevertheless, he felt responsible for her. He swerved off the road, astounding other travelers in their cars. They honked in outrage. He speed down the opposite end of the highway and to his fortune saw Rogue walking in the direction he had indicated earlier.

He pulled up next to her. He knew she was pissed. Her face was pinched white and her eyes were fuming. She marched in furious steps, ignoring him even as he honked at her. Ticked, he slammed on the breaks. No wonder Bobby was diddling Kitty. Rogue was too high maintenance. He pressed the button for the automatic window to roll down. "It will take you a week to reach the mansion. And with no money I'd say you're screwed."

Rogue froze as though she was thinking. Absently, she popped the passenger side door, and got into the car. She snapped the seat belt in place. John set the Jaguar in gear and took off. He felt her hatred. It radiated like the sun's rays, but he'd dealt with worse. Rogue's ire was something he could handle.

_Hell of a way to start a marriage_, the thought danced in his brain. It was hard not laugh and she jerked her head to him, glaring in rage. Wondering what was so damn funny.

After an hour, he felt his stomach growl in protest. He looked her way. "You hungry," he asked.

Her words were like ice. "Don't speak to me. Just get me home."


End file.
